My herds to wander in the sage--to be stolen! Jane Withersteen a poor woman! Her head to be brought low and her spirit broken!...

Why, Judkins, it's plain enough." "Miss Withersteen, let me get what boys I can gather, an' hold the white herd.

It's on the slope now, not ten miles out--three thousand head, an' all steers.

They're wild, an' likely to stampede at the pop of a jack-rabbit's ears.

We'll camp right with them, en' try to hold them." "Judkins, I'll reward you some day for your service, unless all is taken from me.